


Count the Hours

by Hectopascal



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, domestic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 21:57:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1137861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectopascal/pseuds/Hectopascal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl up and disappears. No note. No phone call. No nothing. Rick is (understandably) going out of his mind with worry until Daryl shows again and then he's just plain not happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count the Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Teeth rotting cotton candy fluff. A short drabble for fun based on an actual conversation I heard once that was just too damn weird to let pass unmemorialized with fic.

“Two days!” Rick shouted, slamming the refrigerator door shut without taking anything out. He wasn’t even sure really why he opened it; he just wanted to slam something. Preferably something hard into Daryl’s face, but it was too pretty to break even now so the door would have to do.

“I know.” Daryl didn’t sound worried at all despite the fact that he was about two slots above first place on Rick’s shit list right now.

“ _Two. Days!_ ” Rick repeated.

“I know.” Daryl echoed.

“You’re an _ass_!”

“I said I was sorry.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“Well, I am. I’ll make it up to you later.”

“How?” Rick glared at him and didn’t remotely look like he was in a teasing mood. “You gonna dance naked?”

Daryl winced a little. “Somethin’ like that.”

A crafty look passed over Rick’s face. “You haven’t danced naked for me in a while.”

Daryl beat back the urge to swear viciously as Rick stalked out of the kitchen with the same angry energy with which he’d stalked from their bedroom down the stairs through the living room and into the food preparation area. He was heading for the main door. That wasn’t a good sign.

“I haven’t needed to.”

Daryl followed him the same way he’d followed him from the bedroom down the stairs through the living room and out of the kitchen, trying to look contrite. He wasn’t really pulling it off well, but he _was_ sorry. Really.

He hadn’t _meant_ to disappear for two days, only six hours tops, and he was _going_ to call but things had gotten complicated quickly. His phone ended up God-knew-where and Daryl…well, Daryl ended up not _lost_ , but…disorientated for a while, his normally impeccable sense of direction failing him for once.

Of course Rick had gone out of his mind with worry and called the police no less than three times, getting more and more infuriated each time when his concerns were brushed off because Daryl couldn’t be officially declared a missing person until he was MIA for over forty eight hours.

And, of course, Rick had searched everywhere, hadn’t eaten, barely slept waiting for a call he was terrified would come in the middle of the night—“We’ve found a body, sir. We need you to identify it.”—and when Daryl turned up at last no worse for the wear…he had understandably gone a little ballistic.

Rick’s furious stride took him out the front door, Daryl hot on his heels, but not quite fast enough to follow him out before the door was swinging back towards his face. He leapt back out of the danger area and the door slammed into its frame with a loud bang.

“Shit.” Daryl muttered, desperation mounting.

He wrenched the door open, hating the way Rick could make him feel sometimes like he was two inches tall for something that wasn’t even all his fault—it wasn’t like they were _required_ to tell each other where they were going—hating himself for surrendering so easily, but it would be worth it (hopefully) to have Rick’s forgiveness, already yelling, “Fine! I’ll dance nak—!”

Rick was standing right on the other side of the door. It was a minor miracle that Daryl didn’t plow right into him and knock the both of them off their feet with his forward momentum. Rick clutched him around the waist, holding him while they both stumbled, before settling him on his feet and letting go.

That was when Daryl grabbed him.

Rick went tense immediately and Daryl rolled his eyes in exasperation. Rick didn’t shove him away though, or try at least because Daryl had no intention of relinquishing his prize until he was good and ready, but he held himself stiff, the inch between their bodies slight but deliberately conspicuous.

Daryl sighed.

“’M sorry,” he mumbled into the back of Rick’s neck, pressing a light kiss to the side of his jaw to punctuate the words. “Forgive me?”

Rick’s eyes closed and he took a deep breath, relaxing into Daryl’s hold. “I was worried.”

“I know.”

“ _Really_ worried.” Rick stressed.

“ _I know._ ”

There was a moment of silence. Daryl rested his chin on Rick’s shoulder as he tried to catch a glimpse of his face.

“So,” Rick said at last and now Daryl was the one to breathe a sigh of relief because he _recognized_ that tone of voice and he knew they were good again, “are you going to—?”

“Sure. Yeah. Whatever.”

“Tonight?” Rick persisted.

Daryl groaned low in his throat and closed his eyes. “Okay.”

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

And Daryl couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but a rush of helpless affection for this man who occasionally drove him out of his mind.

“Yeah. Love you too.”


End file.
